On Melancholy Hill
by Allium394
Summary: Lonely and bored on Plastic Beach, Murdoc decides to do something the world would never imagine him doing: he writes a song. Not just any song, a sad love song (gasp!). Join Murdoc on his (despite his liking) emotional journey to Melancholy Hill as he longs for his dear guitarist. (Here's the usual "excuse my bad summary, it's my first fanfic" thing.)
1. Chapter 1

Murdoc:

I sat on the roof of my Plastic Beach mansion playing my bass. The mellow sound of the instrument sounded especially sweet today. I wasn't sure if it was just the day or it was because I was drunk. Either way, today felt special. I sat there, played, and absorbed the low sound of El Diablo. Although I wasn't playing anything specific, I kept coming back to this one pattern. Eventually I kept playing that pattern over and over and over again. It stuck. It consisted only of five different notes but I instantly fell in love with those five notes. _D, A, B, F#, G. _

I eventually took a break from playing to have another drink. Sitting back down on the roof, my bass next to me now, drink in hand; I looked out on the surrounding ocean. It was so peaceful, no one at all for miles and miles. It was truly wonderful to be in the farthest place from any land mass on earth. Point Nemo was a plastic paradise. I had all my stuff here plus no people around. I love stuff, hate people.

As I surveyed the view, I realized something; where I sat was like a hill. Like a peaceful, grassy hill… only without the grass. I'd never really been to a hill like that, though I'd seen pictures. And while I hate to admit that I have a heart, I really do think the hill would be wonderful.

After about an hour of basking in the solitude of Plastic Beach, I realized something that probably proved that I had a heart further: I was lonely. Or at least felt a little empty. Maybe it was because they were no girls on this island, or maybe it was because the band wasn't there, or, again, maybe it was the alcohol. It probably wasn't because the band wasn't there because God knows I could without 2-D, living without Russel also doable, and Noodle… that was a tough one.

Noodle was great. There were a lot of great guitar players in the music industry but Noodle was definitely the best. She was in the world's greatest band, wasn't she? Plus, she's just amazing. Despite the fact that for a large portion of when I knew her she could only speak Japanese, I could still understand the spunk and energy the little ten-year-old had. She was like a little sister to me.

At this moment I realized that my emptiness might've been for my longing for Noodle but the melancholy for how it could never be filled: Noodle was most likely dead. God, I don't want to have a heart.


	2. Chapter 2

That night I had a dream; surprisingly, a good one. This was startling because I hadn't had a good dream in years, maybe decades, maybe even never. The dream was about Noodle. Little Noodle, well actually not-so-little Noodle; the last time I'd seen her when she was sixteen years old. She was here on Plastic Beach with me, prancing around the shoreline with glee as I sat on the jetty and watched her. She then glanced over at me and noticing I was still looking, and ran over.

"Murdoc-san," she said, "we should play together again!"

"Play?" I asked the eager child.

"Yes, play; you on bass, me on guitar. We could write a song!"

"Alright," I agreed, lazily standing up and following her to the mansion's front door where our instruments were conveniently lying. We then made our way back to the shore and sat beside each other. Immediately, I started playing the same five-note pattern I'd been playing before. After a few cycles, Noodle stopped me.

"That song," she said in awe, "it's beautiful."

"It's not really a song, love. It's only five notes." I answered.

"But it's beautiful. Keep playing."

I continued to play and after a few more cycles Noodle began playing her guitar. It took a second, but she played a perfect accompaniment, as if rehearsed already.

Now it was a song.

After about four minutes of this, we paused. "That was wonderful, love." I said.

"It was," she agreed. We then just looked at each other; not knowing what to do. Without thinking, we both leaned in closer to one another. It felt… right. We both then just looked into each other's eyes. Suddenly I felt Noodle's lips on mine.

She was kissing me.

And I was kissing her.

What the devil was going on?!


	3. Chapter 3

I then awoke with a start. I looked around and I was in my bed, the sun shining through the large widows in my bedroom. I lazily got up and went in the bathroom to look at myself in the mirror. I looked the same as usual; pale green pasty skin, one black eye, one red eye, the usual dark bags under them; everything was there but it seemed like something was missing. Then I remembered:

"Noodle," I said, looking at myself. Just the sound of her name coming from my mouth sent shivers down my spine. But with a look of despair I left the bathroom to get dressed, remembering then that the kiss and Noodle alive were just a dream.

Later that day I found myself on the roof again playing that same tune I'd played yesterday, the tune I heard in my sleep. Today I felt something different when I played it. I felt… less empty. Noodle had heard the song, even if in a dream, shed still heard it.

Yet again I looked out on the beach. I remembered the dream last night. It was strange and horrible because I'd kissed Noodle, little Noodle to who I'd been a mere brotherly figure to, not a lover. I could never imagine myself falling in love with her, and never would she ever fall in love with disgusting old me. She deserved someone young, attractive, a gentleman, not that I was never any of those things, because I was, but after years without girls I was just a little… rusty. But I hated, despised, and loathed the fact that I actually enjoyed the dream. How could I enjoy that? I mean, sure, the kiss was ever so innocent, but it was still a kiss, a symbol of much affection, romantic affection, with _Noodle_. I hated even more the fact that I wished for another dream like that.

A familiar voice rang in my head, a voice I'd heard for the first time last night in years: Noodle's. "That song, it's beautiful," she said. It was so vivid, the voice, as if she was here with me.

I looked down at my fingers. Through my thoughts I was still playing the same song. The song: now I suppose it was a song. But a song would need lyrics. I was never particularly good at writing lyrics; 2-D would always alter them to make them better in the first album, and Noodle did most of the work for the second album. Even if it might not be on an album, I still wanted to make it into a song.

I looked out again. I tried to think of an idea for the song. The first thing I thought of was Noodle. Sure, I could write a song about Noodle, but it would be crazy, and what would it be, a friendship song? No one writes friendship songs. All people ever write are stupid, pointless little love songs. And I could never write a _love _song about Noodle. Well, I could, but I wouldn't.

I tried talking aloud to myself to see if it got my thoughts flowing. "Okay, Murdoc, stupid, pointless love songs are about feelings. So what are you feeling?" I thought about this. I wasn't really a feeling kind of person, partly because I don't _usually _have a heart. So this whole emotion and "beauty of the world" thing was new to me.

"Well," I said, thinking aloud, "it feels like I'm on a hill, with the view and all. It makes me really happy but remembering that dream and all and how it will never and can never happen, it makes me feel… well generally sad. Like melancholy. I suppose if you wanted to be all poetic and rubbish you could say I was on a 'hill of melancholy,' a 'melancholy hill,' so to speak."

The idea then struck me. "Melancholy hill" sounded so poetic. I left my bass on the roof and rushed down the spiral staircase to my study to grab a pen a paper to write it down.

"Melancholy hill," I said, thinking of how to fit in into lyrics. "Well it's as if I'm up on a melancholy hill. But that doesn't necessarily make for good lyrics, syllable-wise." I thought. What if I'd shortened it to "up on melancholy hill," as if "Melancholy Hill" were a specific place?

I laughed at this ridiculous idea of being on a hill. I was nowhere near being on a hill, even if it was in a metaphoric sense. A hill would have grass, and animals, and trees; all I had here was a heap of plastic, so if I was even on a hill there'd be plastic grass, plastic animals and plastic trees! I scoffed at this. "Plastic trees" sounded ridiculous. Well, the whole song was ridiculous so far, so I figured, why not add this in? Some idiot will think it has some poetic meaning.

"Up on Melancholy Hill there's a plastic tree," I sang.


	4. Chapter 4

We slowly backed away from each other, startled from the encounter that had just occurred.

"Murdoc-san," she said quietly and childlike, in complete contrast to the moment previously when she kissed me, "I'm—I'm sorry."

"Uh…" I quickly tried to gather my emotions and form words, "it's okay Noodle," I tried. I could see nervous tears forming in her soft, emerald eyes; I decided to try to lighten the mood, "Sometimes people just can't help themselves because I'm so bloody attractive."

At this, she playfully slapped me, _well, _I thought, _she isn't mad._

"Murdoc!" she giggled at my false vanity… well false as far as she thinks.

"Noodle!" I retaliated, mimicking her tone.

"You don't mean that, do you?"

"Well… er…" I hesitated, "it used to be true, a while ago. You know, when I used to have…er… a _snog_ with a different girl every night. But now… I don't know being here alone has made me realize that, while I am bloody amazing, there are other people I care about too."

"But, you're not here alone. You're here with me."

I realized I was there with her. It was only Noodle and me on Plastic Beach. That could lead to a lot of things… but nonetheless, I had to rethink what to say.

"Well… I just haven't snogged anyone in a while, that's it."

"Yes… but," Noodle kept proving me wrong. Why wasn't she just frank? Why was she making me rethink and guess? "but before that," I settled with.

"Oh," she thought for a moment, letting out a long _hmmmmm_. "Well, we could do it again, we could snog again."

Noodle leaned forward again, her lips colliding with mine. Where had this newfound courage come from? She wrapped her arms around me, still kissing me as I did the same to her. I felt her try to kiss deeper but broke the kiss before Noodle got what she wanted. I this was too easy…

"Noodle, love, we should go inside," I said, pointing to the sky, gradually filling with dark clouds, "it looks like it might rain."

She sighed, "okay Murdoc-san."

As we walked inside together, our instruments on our backs, she held my hand and hummed the tune of the song we'd written before the kissing. I smiled. I wasn't one to see the "beauty of life" or anything like that, but I had to admit, it was a wonderful song.

Inside we could do all sorts of stuff but I wouldn't let that happen. Although I wanted it so badly and so did Noodle, I knew I wouldn't do it. There's nothing I would do now that would ever put me at risk of losing Noodle ever again. Never.

Because she was here with me.


End file.
